


You Look Pretty Good Down Here (But You Ain't Really Good)

by SummerFrost



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Rope Bondage, Tattoos, Voyeurism, honestly just take it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11340717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/pseuds/SummerFrost
Summary: Jack finds himself a little overwhelmed at his first BDSM kink party. Luckily, Kent and Bitty are there to show him the ropes.





	You Look Pretty Good Down Here (But You Ain't Really Good)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Justonebigbee (sunlight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlight/gifts).



> Aaah so my lovely prompter requested to infuse the fandom with a little more kink, and I hopefully delivered! I tried to hit a couple things on your suggested list (as well as sneak in some of my own faves :P), and I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful betas: shipped-goldstandard, polyamorousparson, and omgpbandj for all your love and support <3
> 
> Title from Sign of the Times by Harry Styles :D

It’s loud.

That’s really the first thing Jack notices, when he walks inside. Or into this room specifically, he guesses, because he was already inside to get here, but. It’s loud, and there are more people than he was expecting for such a small town. He feels—underdressed isn’t the word, probably—but something like it, in his jeans and black t-shirt. Most people look like they dressed up. Not  _ up _ -up, but—like they put thought into it.

There’s a lot of leather.

Which. It isn’t like Jack didn’t think about what he wore. And there are other people dressed like him, so maybe he’s worrying over nothing. It’s not like he  _ owns  _ anything...leathery. And—did everyone  _ walk  _ here like this? Jack’s chest goes tight just thinking about walking down the street like some of the other people here are dressed. What if he saw someone he knew? Crisse, what if he saw a  _ student? _

But—everyone is supposed to be nice, and they probably don’t care how Jack is dressed. He’s definitely worrying over nothing. There’s a bar serving drinks in the corner. Jack kind of wants a drink. He feels—well, like he probably shouldn’t be having a drink, actually. If he can’t handle being here sober he should probably just go home. But he’s sort of been looking forward to this for a while, since he worked up the nerve to google it a few weeks ago, and—

“Hey, man. You look a little lost. Are you doing okay?”

Jack turns with surprise towards the person speaking to him. He’s a little shorter than Jack, with a tousled mop of blond hair and bright, half-lidded eyes. All of his clothes are tight—the white t-shirt and especially the leather pants. They kind of look like they were painted on. Like if Jack dragged his fingers across them he’d smudge them away and see—

“Hey, buddy—”

Shit. Jack shakes his head a little, blinking, and clears his throat. “Ah, sorry. I’m, ah—I’m alright. I’m just, uh. New.”

The other man smirks. “I kinda noticed, no offense. I just pretty much know everyone here. I’m Kent, by the way.”

“Oh, uh—hi. I’m Jack.”

Jack holds out his hand for Kent to shake, and Kent takes it with a surprised laugh. His hand is warm and soft, and he squeezes Jack gently before pulling away and asking, “So, Jack—are you new-new or just new in town?”

“Oh, um,” Jack says awkwardly, “both? I, uh—just moved here for, um—”

He cuts off suddenly, not sure if he feels comfortable explaining where he works—but maybe it would be rude not to and Kent will be offended, or—

“You don’t gotta tell me,” Kent quickly assures him. “I mean, I’m not gonna tell you what I do. That’s, uh—actually kinda a rule around here. Don’t ask someone about their personal life, you know?”

Jack rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, right. Thanks. Sorry.”

“S’okay.” Kent shrugs. “I mean, you  _ can  _ tell me. It’s just—you seem like you don’t wanna, so.”

Jack admits, “Not really. I, um—at least not right now. This is all…”

“A lot?” Kent supplies. He angles his body slightly, leaning up against the wall while he looks at Jack. “That’s okay. I’m guessing you’re not here with anyone, then, who explained shit to you?”

“I, uh—not really.” Jack ducks his head, suddenly embarrassed again. But—Kent is here, and seems like he’s been involved in BDSM for a while, if he knows everyone. He probably won’t judge Jack for anything he wants. “I’ve—read a lot, um, online, which is why I’m—here. But.”

“Still a lot,” Kent agrees. “Even if you’re into it.”

He looks around the room, and Jack follows his gaze. There are some people doing scenes around the room—a man being paddled, a woman walking someone with a collar—but most people are just talking, it seems like. The noise is—significant, though.

Kent suggests, “It’s quieter in the back, if you wanted to like, sit and talk. Ease into it.”

“Um, that sounds nice,” Jack says. “But, um—I don’t want to—you should enjoy your night?”

Kent’s smirk turns a little softer. “I’m actually waiting to play with someone, but he’s busy right now. Promise you’re not keeping me from anything, man.”

“Oh, ah—that sounds good, then,” Jack agrees, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Great.” Kent pushes off the wall and starts leading Jack towards the back. He turns, a hand outstretched, and then seems to catch himself at the last second. “Oh, uh—is it okay to touch you?”

Jack is surprised by the question. He’s—really just used to people doing it anyway. But he stops and thinks about it, since Kent is asking. The room is loud and crowded and his stomach is still kind of twisted up with anxiety. He doesn’t think he can handle more stimulation right now. So he stares at Kent’s feet and says, “Uh—not right now, sorry.”

Kent pulls his hand away immediately. He doesn’t seem offended like Jack was worried he would be. “No worries. I’ll just go with ‘no’ unless you tell me differently, ‘kay?”

“Um, yeah,” Jack agrees. “Thanks.”

They head into a smaller room in the back, where there are still people talking, but it’s less crowded, which is nice. Kent sits down on a raised area of the floor—it looks like it could be a stage or something, and Jack wonders if people use it for scenes, like he saw in the other room—and Jack joins him.

“So,” Kent offers, “would it help if I talked about myself first?”

Jack pulls his knees up to his chest. He normally feels awkward sitting like that—he’s a big guy and he knows he looks ridiculous trying to scrunch up like this—but it kind of helps him feel better, and he’s pretty sure no one is looking at him, anyway. Well, except Kent. But that—doesn’t feel so bad. He looks over at Kent and agrees, “Uh, yeah.”

Kent hums, running a hand through his hair absently. “Uh, well—I’m a ‘try anything once’ kinda guy, to be honest. I switch, but I’m usually harder-core into the subby stuff. It, you know, depends on the kink though.”

Jack licks his lips, a nervous habit. “Ah, like what?”

“Mm, well, I’m happy on either end of a rope—bondage and tie-play and stuff. But I won’t do dishing out humiliation. That’s, uh—” Kent hesitates and looks away, like maybe he’s embarrassed for the first time. He turns back to Jack before he speaks again, clearing his throat. “But, anyway. I like  _ being  _ humiliated, though. Like, especially if I’ve got an audience, you know? I’m, uh—kinda an exhibitionist, honestly.”

Jack suppresses a smirk and deadpans, “Can’t imagine why you like being here.”

Kent blinks at him for a second, like he’s trying to figure out if Jack is kidding, and then snorts with laughter. “You’re pretty funny, man.”

“You sound surprised,” Jack says. He manages to keep his voice flat, but his lips twitch into a pleased smile.

“Just glad you’re feeling better,” Kent answers with a shrug. “Or, it seems like you are anyway?”

Jack stops to think about it. His posture’s relaxed a little bit, actually, and it feels nicer to be here than it did before he started talking to Kent. “Uh, yeah. I am. Thanks.”

Kent smiles at him in response, bright and eager. It feels good, being looked at like that. “That’s great, dude.”

He lets the conversation fall away for a moment, and Jack looks around the room, appreciating the reprieve before he comments, “You’re, ah—really open, about all of this.”

Kent laughs. “Oh, uh—yeah. I mean, part of it’s—I’m a pretty open book in general, about this stuff. But I’ve been in the community a long time, too. You kinda get used to it.”

“Yeah?” Jack kind of wants to ask Kent to elaborate, but he’s not sure if that counts as asking something too personal.

Luckily, Kent doesn’t seem to mind sharing. “Yeah, I kinda got into it with a girl I was dating when I moved here—which, you know, that didn’t work out but it’s whatever—and that was like—huh. Six years ago?”

“Oh, wow,” Jack says.

“But anyway,” Kent continues with a shrug, “it takes getting used to. Like, talking to people, negotiating scenes and stuff.”

Jack ducks his head and admits, “It’s, ah—intimidating.”

Kent hums sympathetically. “Yeah? I could—”

“Hey, sugar. Where’d you find this cutie?”

Jack looks up at the sound of a new, rich voice, but barely has time to catalogue anything—small, lots of leather, also blond—before Kent is springing up and gathering the other person in a hug. They exchange kisses on both cheeks before separating, and Kent leaves his hand on the small of the other person’s back when they turn to look at Jack.

“Uh, Bitty, this is Jack,” Kent says, smiling at Jack encouragingly. “Jack, this is Bitty. He’s my boyfriend.”

Bitty raises an eyebrow at Kent, but he’s smiling when he teases, “Boyfriend?”

“What, didja want a formal introduction? My apologies.” Kent gives a deep bow, gesturing grandly at Bitty while he does so. “Jack, this is Bitty—dominant-extraordinaire, master rigger, sharpener of knives, fondler of—”

“That mouth of yours’s sure gotten sharp,” Bitty comments mildly, in a way that Jack would almost consider off-hand if it weren’t for the way Kent stops talking immediately and glances over at the dom with lowered eyes, cowed.

It sends a nervous thrill through Jack that he can’t entirely contain.

Bitty turns his eyes back to Jack, and Jack is startled by how wide and warm they are—a startling juxtaposition with everything he’s just seen and heard, as is the genuine softness in his tone. “Well, Jack, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You look new.”

Jack smiles wryly at Kent. “Ah, so I’ve been told.”

“Nothin’ to be ashamed of, hun,” Bitty assures him with a kind smile. “What can we do to make you more comfortable?”

Jack should be less startled by the question than he is. He’s still formulating an answer when Kent leans over to murmur something in Bitty’s ear that makes his smile go a little sharper.

“Oh, really?” he asks Kent, loud enough for Jack to hear. “I think that sounds lovely.”

Jack starts, “Um, what—”

“I was thinking you could watch us,” Kent explains. “Like, we’ll go through a negotiation and everything and, uh—show you the ropes. Pun intended.”

“Oh.” Jack laughs and rubs the back of his neck, considering. “That sounds, ah—great, actually.”

Bitty smiles broadly. “Great! Well, Kent, should we get started?”

“Uh, yeah,” Kent agrees. He shoves his hands in his pockets before continuing, “I was thinking—tie-play?”

Bitty hums. “I don’t wanna do rigging tonight, but I can do something simpler. Pain level?”

Kent smirks, like he’s won some kind of prize. “I’ve got a high tolerance.”

“Marks?”

“Nowhere visible in a collared shirt,” Kent says. “No drawing blood.”

“Where can I touch you, besides leaving marks?”

“Anywhere, even if it’s still covered by clothing.”

Bitty nods, lips quirking like he’s calculating something. “Anything else you want, hun?”

Kent ducks his head a little, but his voice is the same confident, steady tone. “Humiliation—name-calling, fucking with me a little.”

“I can do that.” Bitty looks delighted to do that, actually, if his expression is anything to go by. His eyes are bright, eager. “Hard limits?”

“Nothing homophobic,” Kent answers immediately, then pauses for a moment. “Other than that, uh—I’m pretty much good. You can really tear into me.”

“Safe word?” Bitty asks.

“Whiskers.”

Bitty’s smile is—fond, maybe. Soft in a way that Jack is a little surprised by, though he’s not sure why. “Okay, hun, everything sounds fine to me. But, Jack—I need to go over a few things with you.”

Jack startles a little—he wasn’t expecting to be spoken to again. “Ah, sure?”

“First of all, are you comfortable with watching everything we just discussed?” Bitty asks. “I’m gonna be rough on him.”

Jack licks his lips thoughtfully, glances over at Kent and takes in the dusty blush across his cheeks. “Uh, yeah—it’s all fine with me.”

“Can I address you during the scene? I’d ask you questions about Kent—how he looks, what you think of him.” Bitty pauses for a second, then seems to understand Jack wants clarification. “I’m mostly just looking for you to agree with me—to remind us we’ve got an audience.”

Jack takes time to think about his answer to that one. “Ah, I think that’s okay?”

Bitty tilts his head and chews on his bottom lip absently. “Could we do a traffic light system, then? Yellow if you want me to back off, red if you want me to stop talking to you completely.”

“That sounds good,” Jack agrees.

“Okay, hun.” Bitty smiles approvingly, and—God, Jack already feels so eager to earn more of those smiles. It’s—addicting, almost, and they’ve barely spoken. “I need to lay down a couple boundaries for you, then.”

Kent makes a quiet sound—impatient, maybe—and Bitty clicks his tongue at him but presses up against him, which seems to placate him. Jack, meanwhile, says, “Um, okay.”

Bitty nods to acknowledge him and starts ticking a list off on his fingers, methodically and steady. “No talking to Kent directly, but if I prompt you, it’s okay. No touching him unless he says so—or, Kent—can I decide that for you?”

Kent lifts his head from where he was resting it with his cheek pressed against Bitty’s temple. “Oh, uh—yeah, you can decide.”

“No touching Kent unless one of us says so,” Bitty amends. “No touching me at all. You can talk to me as much as you want, especially if you have questions about what I’m doin’. Normally I’m not too keen on that, but we’re keepin’ things simple tonight, so I’m not too worried about it.”

Jack nods to indicate he’s keeping track of everything.

“I think that’s pretty much it,” Bitty says, then turns to address Kent. “Do you have anything to add?”

Kent hums and shakes his head. “Nah, I think that’s it.”

It’s impressive how easily Bitty’s amicable smile slips into something fiercer—almost predatory in his excitement. Jack shivers self-consciously even though it isn’t directed at him. Kent seems to feel a similar effect, slouching into Bitty’s space—Jack thinks, inexplicably, of the way a dog rolls onto its back to expose its belly.

“Clothes off, then,” Bitty commands, all his pleasantry evaporated, and Jack has to stop himself from grabbing at the hem of his own shirt in a blind rush to obey. “Strip as far as you’re comfortable.”

Kent pulls his shirt off in an eager, fluid motion, and wriggles out of his pants with a surprising amount of grace. He’s wearing ridiculously tight boxer-briefs underneath, all-black and doing nothing to hide the fact he’s already half-hard—from the anticipation or Bitty’s voice, or both maybe. Jack’s mouth goes dry.

He licks his lips and purses them together—flicks his eyes away and brings them back up, reminding himself it isn’t shameful to watch—that Kent  _ wants  _ Jack to watch, and Bitty at the very least doesn’t mind. Jack is wanted here. They want him to want this.

While Kent strips down to his underwear, Bitty grabs a case he’d apparently left against the wall and opens it, pulling out a length of rope that he traces his fingers over with something approaching affection. Jack closes his eyes, briefly—imagines the rope against his own wrists with a shudder. Maybe—soon, he hopes.

“Look at you,” Bitty tells Kent, his head tilted appraisingly. Like he’s sizing up a cut of meat. “So fucking desperate already. It’s pathetic.”

Kent doesn’t answer, really—just makes a low noise in the back of his throat, a vague approximation of a whine.

“Well?” Bitty prompts expectantly, gesturing towards the stage. “Why’re you still standing? Sit down, knees up.”

Kent goes quickly, sitting down with his hands braced behind him and his knees drawn up halfway to his chest. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Bitty once and his pupils are blown out, hungry. Bitty crouches beside him and brushes a hand across his chest, pausing to tweak the silver barbell that’s pierced through his nipple. Kent hisses in response, ducking his head a little, and his dick twitches against his briefs.

“Jack,” Bitty says, off-hand, while he starts the first wrap of rope around Kent’s chest, “you can sit down, honey.”

Jack blinks rapidly, looking around a little before he settles on sitting on the edge of the raised stage-like area behind Bitty, so he has a clear view of Kent’s face.

Bitty makes quick, methodical work of the knots on Kent’s chest—a complicated-looking pattern that digs into his pecs and accentuates his nipples, the piercings glinting an invitation in the dim light. Jack itches to reach out and play with one like Bitty did before—just to feel the smoothness between his fingers, and because he thinks Kent would like it.

Jack likes doing things people like.

He settles for tracing his thumbs across the side-seams of his jeans instead, because he knows he isn’t supposed to touch. It’s becoming apparent that will be a struggle all its own for Jack. Bitty wants Kent to look touchable.

“I could string him up from here,” Bitty explains, tugging at a loop knotted through the center of Kent’s lower-sternum. “He looks so pretty all tied up and suspended. Like an ornament.”

Kent swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and Bitty slips his hand to the right and tugs on a nipple again.

“It’s my favorite part of rigging,” Bitty continues easily, even as he’s moving down to start a series of knots on Kent’s calf. His tone is casual, like they’ve started a conversation in the grocery store. “Making somethin’ into art. I only play with pretty things.”

He pauses in his tying to fix the full force of his stare on Jack. His eyes are dark—they look fully black in the light—and as clinical as they are hungry, and he drags his teeth across his bottom lip while he tilts his head. “I’d play with you.”

Jack’s face goes impossibly warm—feels like he’s been lit on fire. He ducks his head between his drawn-up knees to hide the tears that spring into his eyes. Can’t remember why he’s crying.

Bitty turns back away, his intensity replaced once more by his affected casualness. Jack is grateful he doesn’t push. “Not tonight, of course. I think we better let Kenny have his fun, don’t you? He’s a needy little slut, you know.”

Jack is startled by the sudden change in tone, the way it drips almost sweetly off Bitty’s tongue—it makes him lift his head all the way again, to try and catch Kent’s reaction. He seems to miss it, if there is one. Kent is still braced on his hands and watching Bitty intently, his irises pale slivers in half-lidded eyes.

“I can never figure out what his favorite part is,” Bitty muses as he finishes what appears to be the last knot on this leg. “He likes it when you hurt him—don’t you, sweetheart?”

He punctuates the question with a casual tug on one of the knots in the rope, which sparks a startling reaction from Kent—he yelps and throws his head back, shoulders twisting. His lower body doesn’t move.

“Pressure points,” Bitty tells Jack. His teeth look sharp. Jack wants them scraping across his throat. “I wouldn’t do a tie like this on someone inexperienced. I trust Kenny not to move—he’d hurt himself if he did. Fuck up his leg pretty bad if he twisted it wrong.”

Jack nods mutely, and Bitty continues, “But you don’t get to hurt yourself, do you, Kent?” He tugs on a different knot, swift fingers skimming down the calf, and Kent bares his teeth when he shakes his head. “That’s right. Everythin’ that hurts comes from me. You’re such a fucking slut for it, you’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”

He brings a hand up to Kent’s face, drags a thumb across Kent’s bottom lip. “Do you wanna know what I think his favorite part is, Jack?”

Jack tries to answer but the words catch and splutter out. He clears his throat and tries again. “Y-yes.”

“I think,” Bitty says slowly, brushing a gentle hand through Kent’s hair, “Kent just wants someone to fucking touch him.”

His hand tightens suddenly, viciously, forcing Kent’s head back by the roots and drawing a desperate whine from his exposed throat. “It’s fucking pathetic. He’d do anything just to get you to look at him. He’d whore himself out for it if he could get away with it. Wouldn’t you, Kent?”

Kent’s eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth hung open in a wild pant, chest heaving. He doesn’t answer.

“So fucking desperate for it,” Bitty continues. He drops his hand from Kent’s hair and goes back to the knot-work on his leg, tugging harder than before. “And so useless. Look at him just sitting here taking it. I could choke him on my cock until he cried and he’d thank me, the little slut.”

Kent whimpers, “Bitty—”

“You like it,” Bitty tells him, matter-of-factly. “I can see your fucking dick, Kent. You’re leaking through your boxers.”

Jack can’t help but look down, then, and sucks in a sharp breath at what he sees. Kent is so hard it looks painful, and there’s a damp spot spreading in the fabric, just like Bitty said. It makes Jack’s mouth water with—jealousy, maybe, or sympathy. It’s overwhelming just watching. He thinks if Bitty touched him the way he’s toying with Kent, he’d come in his pants.

“Do you think he’s gonna jerk off when he gets home, Jack?” Bitty asks, tilting his head appraisingly. “I bet he humps the mattress like a fucking dog. Doesn’t even use his hand.”

Kent makes a strangled sound, something like a sob that didn’t fully form.

Bitty hums to himself. “If he makes it that far. Maybe he just shoves a hand down his pants in the car. Too fucking horny to keep his hands to himself like a good boy would.” He shifts his weight a little and brings the hand not toying with the knots on Kent’s leg up to twist and pull at his nipples. “What do you think, Jack? Is Kent a good boy?”

Jack looks up, forces his tongue to work through the haze of arousal wrapped around his throat. His voice sounds hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken in days. “No.”

“No?” Bitty purrs, his smile smug and pleased. It sends a thrill down Jack’s spine. Like that one word is the best thing he’s ever done. “I think you’re right, Jack. And I think Kent knows it, too. Don’t you, Kenny?”

Kent whimpers softly and ducks his head, still not speaking. His shoulders are shaking.

“Oh, are you gonna cry, baby? You can’t even hold it together, can you?” Bitty clicks his tongue and grips Kent by the jaw, forcing him to look right at Bitty. “Ridiculous. You fucking beg for this and you can’t even take it properly. Do you even know how useless you are?”

“I can take it,” Kent croaks out. The words crackle around his teeth, like it hurts to speak. Jack’s own throat feels raw. “Please, let me—”

“At least you’re pretty when you cry,” Bitty tells him. He angles Kent’s face towards Jack. “Isn’t he pretty like this?”

Kent’s eyes are so wet they seem to sparkle in the light. Jack can’t decide what color they are, if they have one. His cheeks are flushed and damp and Jack doesn’t know whether he’d rather count his freckles or lick the tears off first. He holds Kent’s gaze and murmurs, “He’s—beautiful.”

Kent shudders. Cries harder.

“Beautiful?” Bitty hums, turns Kent back towards him. He’s not touching Kent anywhere besides his face anymore, his fingers lightly pressed against his jaw. “You know, I think so too. Such a beautiful little slut, isn’t he?”

Jack nods, though neither of them are looking at him. Bitty keeps his grip on Kent’s face but traces his other hand across the ropes on Kent’s chest.

“I think that’s enough,” he says softly. “Okay, Kent?”

Kent’s eyelids flutter briefly shut before he looks at Bitty again. “Uh, yeah.”

Bitty brushes a thumb across Kent’s bottom lip before he pulls his hand away and turns his attention to the knots on his chest first, fingers working deftly to untie them. He shifts down to the leg next, unravelling the lattice-work, and Kent jolts as the rope falls away.

“Fuck,” he hisses, shoving his face into Bitty’s shoulder.

Bitty smirks. “Funny how it hurts the most, when the blood rushes back in.” He rubs a soothing hand over the leg, and Jack’s attention focuses on the marks the ropes have left behind—thick indents with patterned ridges. He wonders what they’d look like on his own skin. “It’s kinda poetic, don’t you think?”

Jack isn’t sure if he’s supposed to answer. Kent whines Bitty’s name and shuffles closer, wrapping both arms around him and burrowing into the crook of his neck to hide whatever expression he’s wearing.

“I know, honey. You did so well—I’m so proud,” Bitty coos. His voice is so gentle. So warm. Jack feels something thick and eager twisting in his gut—wants to earn the rich tenor of Bitty’s words, the soft touches he brushes against Kent’s skin. Wants to—deserve it.

Kent murmurs something into Bitty’s neck that Jack doesn’t quite catch. It sounds like  _ ‘thank you.’ _

“Oh, sweetheart—you were so wonderful. Wasn’t he wonderful, Jack?” Bitty is holding Kent tightly, arms squeezed around him. It looks protective, proud. Maybe possessive. It makes Jack feel lonely.

“He was,” Jack agrees. “He, uh—I really liked it. Watching.”

Bitty hums. He traces his nose across Kent’s cheekbone and then looks up at Jack with warm—impossibly warm—eyes. “What do you need, hun?”

“Um.” Jack doesn’t know what to do with that question—what  _ does  _ he need? What is he  _ allowed  _ to—

“Do you wanna come sit with us?” Bitty suggests, which is confusing, because Jack is already sitting— “Kenny always loves bein’ cuddled.”

Oh. That—feels like exactly what Jack wants, actually. He nods, not sure what to say, and shuffles closer until he’s pressed lightly against the parts of Kent’s body that aren’t tangled up with Bitty. He feels Kent shifting, leaning into him a little, and rests a tentative hand on Kent’s knee.

They probably look a little ridiculous. Or, Jack does, at least. Kent and Bitty—they look like they belong here, like they fit together. There’s too much of Jack to fit right anywhere.

But Kent murmurs, “Jack, can I—?” and reaches for Jack’s hand, fingers hovering above his knuckles.

And Jack nods, then clears his throat and says, “Uh, yeah,” when he realizes Kent can’t see him.

Kent hums with pleasure and takes up Jack’s hand in his own, squeezing it gently, drawing it farther up his thigh. It puts a shy warmth on Jack’s cheeks, the kind that makes him want to hide his face. He focuses his eyes on Kent instead, the stretch of his shoulders as he slowly uncurls away from Bitty.

Now that Jack’s a little less overwhelmed, he notices the tattoo nestled above Kent’s left shoulder blade. It’s an outline of a cat, inked in minimalist lineart with sharp ears and a curling tail.

He smiles a little and says, “I, ah—like your tattoo.”

Kent chuckles and lifts his head up to smirk at Jack indulgently. “Thanks. Which one?”

“Ah, this one,” Jack says, reaching his hand out to trace the curve of Kent’s shoulder. “The cat. I—didn’t realize you had others.”

“Mhm,” Kent hums, and slides the rest of the way off Bitty’s lap, though he keeps an arm around Bitty’s waist. The movement opens up his hips and chest and draws Jack’s eyes there—there’s a rocket etched on his ribs and a pi symbol on his hipbone, both in the same style as the cat on his shoulder. “The cat was my first one, though. I, uh—got it with my ex. The one I mentioned?”

Jack furrows his eyebrows for a moment before he remembers. “Oh, uh—yeah.”

Kent seems to have perked up slightly, whether from the conversation or the passage of time, Jack isn’t sure. But his eyes are brighter—and green, Jack thinks—and his speech is more animated again. “I like getting tattoos with people. It’s like, a way of showing how important someone is, you know?”

He points at the tattoo on his ribs, his finger pressing lightly against the fins of the rocket. “My partner and his wife both have, like, these cute little planets that go with this, right? And then this one—” He laughs softly, reaching across to his opposite hip to trace across the last tattoo. 

Instead of saying anything else, Kent nuzzles at Bitty’s cheek. Bitty smiles up at Jack, like they’re sharing a secret, and rolls up the hem of his shorts to show off the tattoo of a pie inked on his thigh. It’s similar in style to Kent’s tattoos, but with more details and softer lines, like Bitty added his own touch to the design. 

Jack chuckles under his breath and says, “It’s, ah, a good pun.”

Kent laughs and nudges Bitty with an elbow, like there’s something Jack’s missing. “See, babe? Jack’s got good taste.”

“Oh, Lord.” Bitty rolls his eyes, then tells Jack, “Don’t encourage him.”

Kent just laughs fondly and reaches for the shirt he left folded at the edge of the stage, tugging it over his head. “I should prob’ly get going,” he says, a playful edge sneaking into his voice, “if I’m gonna have time to jerk it in the car before I leave.”

Jack snorts, surprised, and Bitty gasps dramatically and swats at Kent’s arm. “That was  _ not  _ a serious suggestion, Kenny!”

Kent waggles his eyebrows cheekily while he hops back into his pants. “Wasn’t it?” He dips down to kiss the tip of Bitty’s nose, doing up his zipper one-handed. “Don’t worry, babe, I probably won’t get caught.”

“Oh my God,” Bitty mutters.

Kent laughs brightly and turns to Jack with an outstretched hand. “It was awesome meeting ya, man. Lemme know if you wanna talk more—or get together or anything. Bits has my email.”

Jack lingers in the handshake a little, but Kent doesn’t seem to mind. “Ah, yeah. That sounds—yeah, I’ll email you, thanks.”

Kent heads for the exit with a wave thrown over his shoulder, and Jack stares down at his lap for an awkward moment after he’s gone. Bitty doesn’t seemed bothered by his silence, though, humming to himself absently as he takes care of his rope kit.

“I, uh—couldn’t tell if he was kidding,” Jack admits. Probably a weird amount of time later, but.

Bitty snorts, a smile tugging at his lips. “Me neither. He won’t get himself into any trouble he doesn’t wanna be in, though.”

Jack laughs. “That’s, uh—that’s good.”

“Mhm,” Bitty agrees, and goes back to packing up his suitcase. After a few minutes, he says, “I hope you had a nice night, hun. We didn’t scare you off or anything?”

Jack glances at him quickly before averting his eyes again. “Oh, uh—no. I mean—you didn’t—I’m just, uh. Shy. Sorry.”

Bitty sits back down next to him, their thighs barely not touching. His expression is soft, jarringly honeyed compared to before. “That’s alright, I like shy. You’re real sweet.”

“Oh, uh—” Jack blushes, resists the urge to draw his knees up again. “Thanks.”

“I absolutely won’t rush you or anything,” Bitty tells him gently, “but I meant what I said, about playing with you. It doesn’t have to be like what I do for Kent—if you don’t want.”

Jack runs his thumbs along his jeans again, a steady motion. “I’m, uh—not sure? If I want it the same, I mean. But—are you sure you really—um—?”

Bitty tilts his head, like he’s trying to work something out in Jack’s face. But it doesn’t feel scrutinizing like it could. “’Course I do, and I know Kent does too. But like I said, there’s no pressure, sweetpea. How about I just get your email and we can all chat?”

“That sounds good—uh, great,” Jack agrees, and smiles when Bitty hands him a notepad. He writes down the email he uses for BDSM forums and other personal things, and Bitty promises to email him (and Kent) as soon as he gets his phone back out.

He decides to leave before Bitty does—since Bitty has a few more people he says he wants to catch up with while he’s here—and makes his way through the thinning crowd to the exit. The late-night air stings at his cheeks when he emerges back onto the street, crisp and promising.

Jack squares his shoulders against the wind, and smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> PWP with zero orgasms because I never do anything normally lol
> 
> Find me [on Tumblr! <3 ](http://www.yoursummerfrost.tumblr.com)


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